Caregivers Trappping Too

Last night was a trapping night, but that does not always mean one loads up the traps and goes trapping.    I had an appointment for two cats this morning, but I did not expect to personally trap either of them. 

Last week I left a trap with caregivers in a local mini home park. It was wired open and they have been feeding their abandoned cat inside the trap since Thursday.  Last night they took the wires off the trap so that when the cat came to eat it would be caught.

My other cat was being fed by a couple in Parkton. They have been feeding it all summer and as winter comes closer they would like to take it inside and/or try to find it a home.   The husband was quite sure he could put the cat into a transfer cage, and when I called he said he had the cat in his basement, so I took a cage and headed over. 

The caregiver couple are very nice. They had two cats of their own that they rescued some years ago and recently had to put the male cat down.  They still have a beautiful black and white female, and they are hopeful that, if the stray doesn't find a home, they will be able to integrate her with the resident cat and keep her.  It takes no time for the cat in the basement to be placed in the transfer cage.  It's a pretty tortie, and I assure the caregivers that they have a girl. I hurry home in time to meet up with Cathy and we put the little cat into the shed for the night.

Although we are not trapping, we are going to deliver our drop trap to one of two ladies trying to catch single cats in the Sunnybrae area.  This caregiver has already caught two cats, one using a snap trap and one using a transfer cage she was able to persuade the cat to go into.  There is one more cat coming to her deck for food, but so far it has eluded her.  The drop trap will be our last chance, but the caregiver is full of optimism.

I hoped the caregivers at the trailer park would get their cat before Cathy went home, but they did not call so David promised to go with me if they got it later in the evening.  Around 9 they called. The cat had not been seen. I assured them that they could call until 11 and in the morning I could take it in if I got a call by 8 am.

While Cathy and I were out the other caregiver in Sunnybrae called and talked to David. He said she sounded discouraged and probably wants to stop trying to get the final cat she has been feeding. So far she has caught two and also two skunks.  She says the third cat is only infrequently seen in the daytime and she thought it was coming late at night because the food is gone in the morning. I suspect the skunks are eating the food overnight. Possibly the cat belongs to some neighbor who lets it out occasionally, which might account for it sometimes not showing up for days.  Sharon has delivered a shelter to the caregiver because the two cats that are certainly homeless live in a field behind her house and have no real shelter except under her deck. I will get back to her and pick up our trap is she wants to stop trapping for now. We can always go back in the spring if needed.

This morning David and I took the little tortie to Maritime to be spayed.  At 8 o'clock the caregiver at the mini home park called to say she still had not seen the cat. I advised her to try trapping again this afternoon and evening and to call if she caught it.  

I had to take the mil to the eye doctor, so I was tied up until about 11.  That was the time I had agreed to go out to a home north of town to pick up one homeless but much loved cat.  This guy has been hanging around a country home for almost a year.  The man who lives there feeds and talks to him and he is fairly tame.  Unfortunately the couple are moving into town and selling their home, so the cat will have no support once that takes place.  They are actually living in town now, but the husband goes to the property every day to do some fix-ups in preparation for selling.  The caregiver told me on the phone he thought he could get the cat into a transfer cage.

We tried.  The cat is wiry and strong; I could pet and scratch him , but I could not scruff him. The caregiver cannot pick him up and I did not think he would allow me to. We tried seducing him with canned cat food, and he did go almost all the way into the cage but managed to scoot backward and escape before I could put the door in place. After considerable effort in the rain, we gave up and decided that the caregiver will get a trap from my place and try the old "wire it open until they're used to it" trick.   The cat is handsome, definitely a male, and only semi feral. The caregiver would like us to look for a home for him and I think he would be a great barn cat.  I take photos to put on the internet, but in the meantime one of our colonies has agreed to take him in until a home is found, or forever if it comes to that.

 

I'm back home around 1:30 when the phone rings. The caregiver at the mini home park has the cat in the trap.  I look outside and the sun is shining. I call Kelly and pick her up to help me with the cat.  As I go down the drive to pick up a transfer cage beside the deck I see a cat there. The transfer cage I used this morning had some canned food still stuck to it, but because it was raining when I came home I left it beside the deck to be hosed down later. Now a rather nice tabby tuxedo is cleaning up the mess with gusto.  It runs when I sees me, but I make a mental note to put some kibble out tonight.  I'm sure it's the same cat David and I saw walking down the sidewalk a few mornings ago and I wonder if it is lost of if someone new to the neighborhood is risking their cat's life by letting it outside. 

I pick up Kelly and stop for gas. It starts to rain. (Possibly the angels are crying over the cost of filling the old van?)  As we drive to the mini home park, the rain abates, then starts to mist just as we arrive at the trailer.   The lady comes out and shows us the trap where I originally placed it.  I bend to line up the transfer cage with the trap and the skies open up. Water falls in sheets on all three of us.  The caregiver could not latch the trap so she has closed it with twist ties which I have to unwind.  It's covered with a blanket but the cat is leaping around.  Kelly is trying to hold the trap in place. The caregiver is shouting that the cat will never move from one cage to the other.  The trap and the cage are sliding in the mud and dangerous gaps appear between them. The caregiver grabs for the cage, I warn her not to interfere but it's too late; the cat manages to snag her with a claw.  All the time the rain is pouring.  The cat is frantic, rushing from cage to trap and I am struggling to get the door in place without letting go of the cage. Finally Kelly gets control of the trap and holds it steady for an instant. As soon as the cat circles back into the cage I drop the door and secure it. I throw a blanket over it and Kelly and I beat a hasty retreat in the downpour with the cat in the cage and the empty trap.   We are just leaving the mini home park when the rain stops. 

Foster Kittens Sept 21

New photos today show Archie's deformed front feet. I am trying to find out if there is anything that could be done to improve his condition. He gets around well, but he is certainly limited in what he can do.  I also got another shot of Hunter.  He is going to be gorgeous when he grows up. Both kittens will now purr for me if I pet and give treats, but I can only pick up Archie.

The Rest of the Story

So what happened to the five cats that were caught Tuesday night? What was wrong with the kitten?  Did they all have surgery and return to the colony?   Did they grow fat and friendly under the care of the kind couple who lived next door to their original caregiver?

In trapping, there isn't always a happy ending.

The last cat caught, a pretty little half-grown tortie tuxedo with medium length fur and a bushy tail, was found to have a condition called Feline Pododermatitis, also known as pillow foot.   The condition is very painful and impossible to treat in a feral cat, so she had to be put down.  

The kitten with the odd walk has both front feet curled inward and walks on the sides of them instead of the pads.  He is a beautifully marked dark tabby, and nervous but not entirely feral. An X-ray showed that his front ankles are dislocated. The vets were not sure if this is the result of an injury or a congenital defect.  (I vote for congenital defect; some years ago we took two kittens from the colony next door that had a similar malformation at the elbow rather than the ankle.) They advised that he would not have much chance of survival in a feral colony, but does not seem to be in pain and could probably have a good life if he can be tamed and placed for adoption.   

The other three cats...really two cats and a kitten...are all orange tabby males. The good news is that all four surviving cats are feluk negative.

Ca-r-ma designates cats and kittens as FE or CA. FE's are feral or homeless cats that are trapped with the intention of returning them to the colony. CAs are non-feral cats or kittens that we expect to place for adoption. Marlah is in charge of FEs while Kim is responsible for CAs. Occasionally the designations overlap, and this was one such case.  

All five cats were, of course, FEs, but Marlah and I agreed that I would take the tabby into care. I no longer foster for reasons that are likely to become clear as this blog progresses, but this was a special case.  I could not send the kitten back to the colony.  He can't run very fast and I doubt he can climb trees, so he would really be at risk there. 

Cathy and I picked up the four cats from the vet and headed out to the colony. It was dusk when we arrived but the elderly caregiver was in the yard sweeping out the back of his truck. He will need it to move the rest of his belongings to his new home. 

He was disappointed to see us because he thought we might find homes for the cats.  I explained that they are too wild to be adopted, although we will see how they behave over time. The caregiver himself can touch most of them, and now that they are altered some of them may become placid enough to place as barn cats or indoor/outdoor cats.   I told him what had happened to the little female. He nodded, but he is not sure how many cats he has and doesn't interact with them much any more so I don't know if he even remembered her.  

Cathy took the transfer cages out of the van and put them on the ground.  She removed the cover from the first one and I unlocked and lifted the door. The large orange cat, the only one that the caregiver seems to particularly recognize, shot out of the cage and headed for the woodpile.  The second cat followed suit as soon as he was released.  

Then Cathy uncovered the third cage. Cowering inside was a deep orange kitten about the same size as the handicapped tabby.  I opened the door, but the kitten didn't leave.  "I wish you could find it a home." said the caregiver.  "Aww." said my partner, "It's so little and cute, if I didn't already have fosters, I'd take it home."   I reached into the cage to see if the kitten would bolt past my hand, but it just shrunk back as far as it could and stared at me with bright yellow eyes.  "To heck with it ", I said, thinking that both Kim and Marlah are likely to pitch a fit, but one kitten or two, what's the difference?  I put the door back on the cage. 

So the two kittens are in our basement.  We named the tabby Archie after another dark tabby kitten that David saved, fostered and loved. We're going to call the orange one Hunter. In six years of fostering I've only returned two kittens to a colony because I was unable to tame them. Their names were Hunter and Lady Hawke. I failed them, and I am determined I will not fail this kitten.   Here are the first photos. You can see how Archie's foot is deformed and Hunter, like all cats destined to be returned to a colony, has a notch in his left ear to indicate that he has been neutered:

Why "Mad Trapper"?

Essentially, I think one has to be trifle mad....and I mean it in the kindest possible way...to go out in all kinds of weather, tramping through all kinds of terrain at all hours of the night and day, getting sunburned, bug bitten and drenched to the skin to capture cats and kittens that, far from thanking you, will sink their teeth into your unwary flesh and scar you for life with their claws if given a chance.   But then I remember this:

Faith, the night she came in, dying of upper respiratory infection, loaded with fleas, skeletal little body, tummy distended with worms and a with a large infected wound on her neck.

I remember this:

Destiny, a tiny orphan whose life was literally in Marlah's hands.

I remember this:

Foxx, who bit both Marlah and I when we first met him, but would not have lived to grow up because of a polyp inside his skull that gradually prevented him from eating and breathing.  

I know what they are today, and I know there were so many, many more who owe their lives to the trappers, the foster parents and the vets who worked on them. 

 

Promises To Keep and Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Monday morning while I was in the bathroom at 6:30 the phone rang and went to voicemail.  I picked up the message a few minutes later and called the caregiver back. She lives in Sunnybrae and has been feeding three cats on her back deck, two of them for several months and one that showed up a few weeks ago.  We tried trapping there and were not successful so we arranged with the caregiver that she would have a snap trap on her deck that was wired open, would feed the cats inside the trap and on certain days would remove the wiring in the hope that one of the cats would be caught.

So far, the caregiver has caught a pretty long-haired black and white cat that she thought was female but it turned out to be a boy. She has also caught two skunks.  I released the first one, a polite little female who hurried under the deck without incident. The caregiver herself released the second one and suffered no ill effects either.

Monday morning she had another cat, her newest diner, black and sleek: probably an owned cat abandoned by the owners. I had not been expecting this; usually I let her know what days we have appointments, but since I had not called her on the weekend, she assumed it was OK to trap Sunday through Thursday.  There was no appointment waiting for this cat.

I dressed quickly, grabbed a transfer cage and fired up the old van. In the overcast dawn, the caregiver and I got the cat into the transfer cage. When I got back home I waited impatiently for 7:30 to come so I could call Marlah and have her call for a vet appointment.   Vet Care was able to fit in one more cat, so I struggled through the morning traffic to deliver my captive.  That evening it was raining and I was working so David picked the cat up from the vet and put it in our shed.  After I got off work we took him back home where the caregiver was pleased see him looking bright and alert. When David opened the cage, the cat came out, strolled past him casually and went into the grass of a nearby field. This behavior reinforced our belief that this beautiful animal, like hundreds of others in Moncton, is not feral but simply had the misfortune to be owned by someone who not longer cares. 

Robert Frost wrote the title line long before Canada went metric, so with all due respect, the kilometers traveled that day totaled 58.  Time spent was abut 2 hours.

Tuesday was trapping night as described in my previous post. Kilometers traveled: 52 Time spent was about 3.5 hours.

Wednesday the cats from trapping night had to be taken to the vet and then returned to their colony. Kilometers traveled: 72 Time spent was about 2 hours.

Thursday morning I was assigned to pick up three kittens that had been rescued after they were abandoned under a deck here in town.  The lady who took them in said there were five originally but she was only able to catch three so we don't know what happened to the others.   We don't know how they got there. Possibly the mother was an abandoned cat who gave birth there, or possibly some irresponsible owner thought it would be a good place to throw away kittens they didn't want. 

The kittens are adorable: one grey striped short haired tabby and two fluffy blacks, one with some grey mixed in the black. I think we have a boy and two girls and this is later confirmed by the vet hospital.

I take the kittens to the vet and then I follow up on a call I've been assigned from a local mini home park.  The caregivers there are feeding a stray cat that someone moved away and abandoned.   They are sure he's not feral, but he is wary and they can't catch him.  They would take him in before winter if he could be neutered and ridded of fleas and worms.  They have a beautiful female cat of their own; they saved her when her owner left her behind and they have spayed and taken great care of her.  That afternoon I take a snap trap to the mini home, meet with the caregivers, a retired couple, and show them how to feed inside the trap, which is wired open. I explain how to remove the wires and set the trap and leave them with instructions to try and get the cat next Tuesday evening or very early Wednesday morning.   I email Marlah to get an appointment on Wednesday.  

Thursday evening I pick up the three kittens from the vet and return them to their rescuer who will be adopting them.  Kilometers traveled 72. Time spent, about 2.5 hours.

Today is Friday. Marlah called this morning because she was ill and could not deliver the cats to Oulton's that were supposed to go. Unfortunately I was out and did not get the message in time to help. I have a few phone calls to make and foster kittens in the basement, but perhaps there will be no other ca-r-ma work today. 

So far this week I've traveled 254 kilometers for ca-r-ma and worked 10 hours, which does not include time spent on phone calls and fostering, which probably adds up to another 6 or 8 hours. 

I don't mind. I'm happy to do it and I love helping the cats.  I just get a little hot under the collar when people think trappers don't do anything because they don't always go to "MEETINGS".

These photos are actually from last week's trapping.  The cats are semi feral and the tortie photographed inside the shed did not want to leave when she was let out after her recovery period.

In the Beginning

Seems like an odd time of year to start a blog. Trapping season is almost over, but nonetheless.........

The evening is clear and cool verging on cold.  Cathy and I sit in the cab of the caregiver's truck, whispering so the cats won't be spooked.  The windows are rolled up except for a little space on my side where the nylon rope passes through.  Thirty feet ahead of us in the fading light, the drop trap sits, empty but well-baited with kibble mixed with tuna. Using the drop trap was Cathy's idea.  She saw it in action for the first time last week, and thinks it might be effective here.

The caregiver, an elderly man, has said goodnight and told us he was going to bed. He will be leaving his home soon for a seniors' apartment in Salisbury. It's the right thing to do; he can no longer sustain himself in his partially finished home in the woods, but he is a country man and even small town life will be an adjustment.  He knows who we are, but his mind play tricks on him and he had forgotten the arrangement we made to spay and neuter the semi feral cats that are part of his world so his next door neighbors can continue to feed them. He thinks we are taking them away forever. We were here two weeks ago, but I'm sure he doesn't remember our names, however he can name every variety of tree in the forest that surrounds his and his neighbors' homes.

When we arrived tonight the caregiver already had a deep orange tom in a transfer cage we left with him on our previous visit.  The cage, covered with a section of fleece blanket, sits on the ground behind the truck in the narrow drive, near our van. Cathy has carried a snap trap along the path through a small stand of trees to the neighbor's house and set it on the deck where they feed their own small feral colony.  The cats from both colonies migrate back and forth from one food source to the other, so perhaps we will catch one of the old man's group visiting next door. 

Shortly after the door closes behind our caregiver, in the fading light we see two orange tabbies approach the trap. Intrigued by the odor of tuna and not having eaten all day, they move cautiously, but with a certain excitement  as they glide around the cage looking for a way to reach the tempting treat.  It takes the larger cat only a few minutes to find the door and go in.  He starts to bolt down the food. 

"Steady" I think. The spindle that holds our end of the rope is wedged under my ample thigh. There's a lot of food in the trap, our theory being that if the first cat stays and eats with no harm coming to it, other cats will be encouraged to enter the trap too.  We will wait.

The second cat is frustrated, dodging back and forth seeking the way to get to that wonderful food. Now there is another cat, large and black.  Perhaps it is the one whose damaged tail we amputated earlier this year or it may be one that we took to be neutered two weeks ago.  It stands on its back legs, paws on the cage, sniffing the air, then it, too begins to pace and circle the trap.  Suddenly a kitten has materialized out of the shadows. It appears to be a tabby, and it joins the others around the trap.  We hold our breath as the smaller orange cat pauses by the door of the cage. Quickly, he darts inside and falls upon the feast with gusto. 

Two cats would be good, but we wait.  The black and the tabby have been joined by two more adult cats. It is increasingly dark, but they are tabbies or torties.  They pace and circle, and one reaches a paw between the bars, trying to pull a chunk of tuna toward her.

I am focusing on the tabby kitten. It appears to be three or four months old, and there is something about the way it walks. I ask Cathy if she notices anything. She does. The little creature has an odd rolling gait as if something is wrong with its legs or back.  It gets around well, though, and searches with the others for that elusive entryway, pacing back and forth on one side of the trap, then another.

It seems to go on for a long time. Just before the last light disappears, I see the smaller orange cat raise his head.  Then the larger one stops eating too and looks around. We can't wait any longer. I pull the spindle out from under me, and slacken the rope. 

The door drops instantly and the cats outside the trap scatter in all directions. The ones inside dash around, climbing the sides of the trap and trying desperately to escape.

We are out of the truck in a flash. Cathy grabs two transfer cages and I carry the flashlight and covers for the cages.  She lines up a transfer cage at the door of the trap, opens both doors and in a very short time the larger cat shoots through. The smaller one is almost on his heels but Cathy drops the door.   Quickly she has the other cage in place and it takes only another minute to get the second cat, really just a kitten now that we see it close, into the cage.

Cathy carries the covered cages to the area beside the van. She`s a great trapping partner. Back problems keep me from doing any but the lightest lifting and she does not let me carry anything that has any weight.  We take more tuna and kibble from the van and add bait to the trap. This time, I put a couple of small pieces of tuna just inside the door of the trap, hoping the smell will guide the cats to the right spot to enter.  

We return to the truck.  It`s completely dark now and the trees around us rustle in a slight breeze.  Talking in whispers we chuckle as we recall our last trip. Cathy saw something white that was taller than a cat moving in the darkness beside the path to the neighbors`s house.  A minute later we saw a skunk scuttling through the bushes, it`s white-edged plume of  a tail high, much higher than a cat`s back.  I grew up in the country and skunks do not concern me; they usually don`t interfere with anyone who leaves them alone. We left that one alone. 

A shadow moves near the trap. It`s the kitten.  He circles, reaches the door and smells the tuna just inside. Eagerly, he grabs it, then with his odd shuffling gait he enters the trap and goes to the food spread before him.  I drop the door. Something is wrong with the kitten. It may need medical care and we can`t risk it getting away.  

It takes a few minutes to get the kitten into a transfer cage. It's difficult to see, but there is definitely something wrong with him; his walk is very unusual. I open more tuna and add it to the trap, putting a couple of pieces just inside the door again.   I return to the truck and Cathy goes over to check the snap trap, coming back to report that it is still set and unoccupied.  I ask if she would like to handle the rope, but she declines.  Maybe next time.

The moon, full and bright, comes up behind the caregiver`s home.  It sheds a great light on the driveway in front of the truck. Unfortunately the trap, placed at sunset, is under a tree and the moonlight does not touch it.  From time to time, I flick the lights of the truck on just long enough to see if anything is near the trap. Despite the cold a few hardly mosquitoes are still out and occasionally we slap ourselves where one bites.

To pass the time, I tell Cathy about the colony next door. It was one of our first colonies.  All the remaining cats have been altered and we have been trying for years to get the caregiver here to allow us to alter his cats too.  It is only because he can't care for them anymore that he finally agreed.   The colonies of course have a lot of interaction and we found feline leukemia there early on.  I recall two sweet kittens, one already showing symptoms, that we had to put down in our first year of operation.  Because the disease is deadly and has no cure all cats from both colonies are now tested.

Earlier this year Marlah and I trapped at the colony and caught two injured males and pretty tortie female. One male had a nasty wound on his chest and the other had a badly damage tail, perhaps from being caught in a rabbit snare.   The chest wound was treated, the cat was given a shot of convenia, a slow release antibiotic, and returned to the colony. The tail had to amputated from the other one, he was also given convenia and the last time I saw him he was streaking away from the spot where we released him after his trip to the vet.  The caregivers report that both males are doing well and coming to eat regularly.

Sadly the female tested positive for feluk and had to be put down.  She was a carrier and carriers can live several years, but they infect other cats, and if they have kittens, which she surely must have done, the kittens are born with the disease and die shortly after birth.  In addition, the disease destroys the cats' immune system, so if we had attempted to spay her she would have almost certainly have gotten a post-op infection that would have killed her slowly and painfully.   Trapping can be brutal when decisions like this have to be made; I'm glad they don't happen often. 

Time passes. I check my cell phone.  Almost 9 pm. We saw one dark cat sitting on a woodpile but it came toward us and walked past the truck, perhaps heading over to see if dinner at the neighbors' might be available with less danger.  I can't tell in the darkness if it has a tail. Neither of the caregivers has put out food today, so the only goodies in the neighbors' yard are inside the snap trap.   Other than that one cat, we see nothing. The moving moon shadows trick us into thinking we discern animals, but when the truck lights go on, the trap and surrounding area are starkly empty.  

I decide it's time to go. I flick the headlights on one last time and there, inside the trap is a small cat eating happily. Where did she come from? Neither of us saw her slip through the night. I drop the door.

We approach with a transfer cage and cover, and the cat goes ballistic.  She climbs the sides of the trap, at one point hanging from the bars at the top by her front feet with her back feet not touching the floor.  I find a small metal rod on the ground under the tree and pass it through the bars, gently pushing her in the right direction.  Finally she is safely caged and covered. It never ceases to amaze me how the simple act of putting a small blanket over the cage calms even the more spastic cat almost instantly. 

We turn the drop trap over so the food inside can fall out for the cats to find. I fill the caregiver's feeding bowls with kibble and put the rest of the bag and the remaining tuna on the wooden table in the yard where the cats normally eat.   Cathy and I fold the drop trap and she places it in the van then loads the cats.

The power went out soon after we arrived at the colony today and it is very dark amongst the trees as we follow the path to the neighbor's home.  When they see our flashlight the two of them, husband and wife, come out onto the deck.  There's a cat in the snap trap.  Cathy pulls back the cover she had left over it, and we all recognize her as a female we spayed two weeks ago.  Her left ear is notched and the man remembers her well; she did not want to leave the shed where we put her to recover from surgery and appears to be only semi feral.  Cathy opens the trap and she is gone like a shot, but the tuna Cathy used for bait is also gone, so at least she got lunch for her ordeal. 

Back at the van, Cathy puts the empty trap on top of the drop trap. Her hunch about using the drop trap certainly paid off and as I edge the van slowly down the narrow drive to the road and turn toward Moncton the yard light in the neighbors' yard goes on. We are both very pleased with our night's work.